’85 Paris Roubaix

From: Legs
Subject: ’85 Paris Roubaix
This may not be in HD or have the best musical score, but somehow this seemed harder back then…

When they call this one a “classic,” they mean it.

Paris Roubaix 1985 Finish

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About big jonny

The man, the legend. The guy who started it all back in the Year of Our Lord Beer, 2000, with a couple of pages worth of idiotic ranting hardcoded on some random porn site that would host anything you uploaded, a book called HTML for Dummies (which was completely appropriate), a bad attitude (which hasn’t much changed), and a Dell desktop running Win95 with 64 mgs of ram and a six gig hard drive. Those were the days. Then he went to law school. Go figure. Flagstaff, Arizona, USA

6 thoughts on “’85 Paris Roubaix

  1. Goddamn John Tesh. His voice is bad enough. But to have to listen to his shit stained keyboard crap as well? Thank god for the mute button.

  2. The moment I love is throwing the ‘helmet’ down. Like saying – “Fuck this shit” and putting the hammer down. Lemond. He. Riding on steel.

    “We’ll not stop here. We’ll continue riding. We’ll arrive wet and stinking.” said Toranaga.

    When I watch that, I feel like going out and letting some road beat the shit out of me. Because I sure can’t beat the road. It’s there, waiting… always there it will be. Pounded by tires of all kinds, but always there. Quiet, loud; busy, serene – riding away the soreness of the last day’s effort.

  3. I remember rushing home from a ride to watch this very race on CBS. My formative years of cycling and damn it if I don’t tell the truth and say that I kind of miss that shitty Tesh (and later Yanni) soundtrack in today’s racing coverage. And holy hell, you give Phil Liggett a few hours of post race prep time before doing the final voice over and the man becomes a beat poet of the first order.

  4. I fucking love the intense music that they used into the early-to-mid 90′s for bike races. I was a tike back then, but I sure as hell can appreciate it now.

  5. Metallica always worked for me. I was ‘introduced’ to cycling by being a 14 year old riding my Trek road bike around my hometown and out onto the dark highways with a walkman blaring in my ears. Pushing my heart and english muffin induced power to the max on that with songs like ONE and SHORTEST STRAW. I think that if you can play Metallica in your head, you’ve got an edge in a race.

    I crashed and broke a couple of walkmans, some with buttons on the door and a little electronic ribbon connecting to the player, and so I soon found the best was the one produced by SONY with the door that enclosed the whole cassette bay, and when I crashed with that one, it just dinged up the door instead of breaking it off. This was the period before I discovered paying attention. What’s that you ask? Was I wearing a helmet? Fuck no! I paid $150 for my Trek with ‘skinny tires’ and the helmets were GAY back then.